The ease.

When I was 19
I kissed a DJ most nights
At 27 we hardly talk
Mostly on Tuesday nights

My patience, more
My love of self, real
My morals higher in places
I know who I am

I remember
The tight rope walk
The just because he asked
The not knowing I had options of my innocence

My steps got more firm around 24
When the pixie dust sparkled less
And lies sounded like themselves

Becoming a woman is hard because the bullshit doesn’t fit anymore
The 2 am partially drunk phone calls from ex-lovers sound pathetic
There is no more flattery in a concrete reality
My self-esteem isn’t low enough for the promise of drunk sex with two men neither do I actually want enough to wake up or wash the adult off for
Can’t even pretend I could back track enough to cum under such ridiculous circumstances
I am more myself
So much myself that I know what is true for me

At times the progress of it all
How day-to-day growing seems to be
Is a jagged knife running across the softest of skin

How effortless aging is until you are living for a real reason
Dedication from afar doubles as mundane
Makes the sound of sleep seem boring
But tonight
Right after I hang up this phone
Write this poem
Thank god
I will rest
Easy.

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